I came home from work today in a mood, already exhausted by the week ahead. Got out of my day clothes and into my play clothes and headed to the park, where several varieties of daffodils were in full bloom around the labyrinth, along with grape hyacinths, pansies, and the first few daisies.
The songbirds fluted rhythmically, and the sun ducked in and out of puffy clouds passing through the blue sky, illuminating the daffodils so they looked like colored lights hanging close to the ground from slender, green poles.
The perfection of the moment shook me out of my mood and into a realm of possibility. I thought of my mom, who loves flowers, and how she would appreciate all this.
What’s different now is that I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called my mom. She answered with a bright voice, although it was obvious that talking was hard work, and I asked her if she’d like to see the most beautiful flowers. She said yes, and I told her I was on my way to pick her up.
Within a half hour, we arrived together at the park, and I showed her the flower-lined labyrinth – my sanctuary – for the very first time. After admiring the flowers for about ten minutes, she was tired and cold, and we returned to the car so I could take her back home. But during those ten minutes, the sun shone at just the right angle and bathed the park in heavenly light, and I felt blessed to share the moment and the beauty of the flowers with my mom. I also knew that her presence there during that brief time would forever bless my sanctuary with a bit of her essence.
What’s different now is that I am awake enough to realize that “someday” won’t suffice, for there is no guarantee it ever will arrive. We have to make it happen by not ignoring or postponing impulses – nudges from the universe to live more fully. In the future, I won’t walk the labyrinth wishing I could have shared the beauty of this place with my mom because I already have done so; I made it happen. By seizing the moment, I created a memory – and, incidentally, my mood improved instantly, for I felt more alive, more connected with life.
I seized the moment not only for myself and my mom but for everyone who is unable to share such simple pleasures with a loved one and would give anything for the opportunity to do so one more time. And I am writing about it to remind you to embrace the opportunities that may come as whispers and nudges, and not let them pass by.
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